Dead Man Walking
by Loise
Summary: Hidden moments during 6th year, dangerous meetings during the quest for Horcruxes and one second that changed everything. War happens to every one. HarryPansy, DracoPansy among other pairings.
1. A Reputation To Uphold

**Dead Man Walking

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**

_A Reputation To Uphold

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_

"You really are an idiot, do you know that Potter?" There was a sigh behind him, "Such a fool. Always so... Emotional. Snape doesn't like that, and he doesn't like you. Get over it."

"I don't think you understand Parkinson, how could you, ice cold bitch of Slytherin, ever understand me, or my emotions?" He had to admit, that didn't come out very well.

She laughed lightly and dripping with scorn, she remarked, "Such a simple little boy, do you really believe every word the rumor mill spills out? Been listening to Parvati's and Brown's grapevine have you? I'm _so _disappointed. I would have thought that Gryffindor's Golden Boy, would be more fair!"

Slowly turning, he glared at her. Parkinson smirked, put a hand on her hip and looked her nose down at him. "Well," he paused watching her reaction, "You certainly have a reputation... There's always a sliver of truth, no matter what you say."

"You have been listening to Terry Boot haven't you?" Harry blinked at her openness, "I thought so. Well, Terry, is a little prick, in more ways than one. There is no way I would let _that_ near me. I deserve only the best."

"But how would you know...?" Harry said quietly.

Lowering her eyes, a demure cast of her face completely ruined by the sensual smile her lips played. "I like to know these things, Potter..."

Narrowing his eyes, as she stepped forward and placed a hand on his tie. Trailing a finger down the red, the gold stripes. She played with it, focusing on the crooked tie. "I like to know, all sorts of things Potter." Her fingers let go of the tie and she leaned against the wall, her eyes half cast.

The little smile on her face spelled trouble, yet Harry felt so inclined to ask... "D'you... Know..." He stuttered to a stop, a red blush infusing his pale cheeks. He looked away from her face, her smile broadening into a grin.

A hand brought his chin and Harry met her gaze. Pulling him forward, she let his lips ghost across hers, both their eyes were open and his were wide with shock while her dark eyes remained solemn.

"Does that answer your question?"

Harry stumbled over his words, in his haste to get them out. "I don't, I don't! Like you!"

Giving him a look of despair, Parkinson snorted, "And you think I do? Please, Potter. Don't say you are _that _stupid."

Frowning he jerked his chin from her grasp, "Stop touching me," words laced with venom and hate, he stepped away from her, barely looking at her.

"Don't worry... I won't. I was just proving a point. You don't need to fear me," at the corner of his eyes he could see her eyes darken, "It's just advisable."

"And I'm to trust you?"

Shaking her head, she replied, "No... Now that would be silly!"

"So what does this mean?"

"Does there have to be a meaning?" Parkinson rolled her eyes, "It's so meaningless searching for something that doesn't exist. I did it, because I wanted to. You can be quite attractive, if... Untidy."

"You kissed me..."

"Don't tell me you've never been kissed."

"Yes!" He blushed, "I mean, I have... Been kissed."

"Hmm... You weren't that good. You really should practice some more." She grinned impishly.

"I suppose you are offering?" Harry shot back at her.

Her eyes widened and her demeanor changed, becoming almost nervous for a moment. "No! I can't, I really shouldn't have... Kissed you in the first place..." She ended quietly.

"So why did you?"

Shrugging, she prepared to answer, "I, I suppose I was bored." She looked down, an air of vulnerability crossing her face, "Draco and I aren't going well..."

"You kissed me..."

Shooting an irritated glance an him she continued, "You've already said that Potter, please refrain from saying it again. I doubt I'll ever do again, I should have not done it in the first place. I just seem to incite even more trouble. I'm a bad girl Potter."

"But not an ice cold bitch?"

"Not really. I do have my moments. We all do, even you, Golden Boy."

Harry was affronted, "Excuse me? When have I ever acted like you?" There was a mixture of disgust and surprise in his voice as he gazed at Parkinson, a rather silly grin on her face.

"Shall we forget fifth year Potter? Even we in the Sytherin common room heard all about you 'hissy fits'. Draco and I laughed about you a lot that year."

"Well, thanks. That really makes a guy feel better. I have you know I was going through some bad time that year." Harry was almost pouting at this point, then he crossed he arms across his chest.

"We all were. OWLs were a bitch. A tremendous pain in the butt."

"It's not only that..." He trailed off, wondering why he was even thinking of telling her any of this. She was easy to talk to, well the words came out easy to feel in the dreadful silences that her glares made. She was snarky, dismissive and looking for a fight.

"The Dark Lord? Pressuring you? I'm not surprised. If I was him, which I'm not, those red eyes would do horrible things for my complexion... Not to mention his nose!" She brought a thankful hand to her nose, "That's what I would do."

Blankly staring at her, Harry struggled to find the right words.

"I've said far to much."

"Yes."

"I really should go Potter, so should you."

"Yes."

Neither made a move to leave the abandoned hallway. There was silence. Except for their quiet breathing. But his was becoming ragged, he was nervous yet he couldn't figure out why.

Some how she managed to get right up to him without him noticing. "Potter, you really shouldn't worry so much."

Laughing without humour, he was shocked, through he didn't show it, to find some hurt in her eyes. "Parkinson, this is simply something that you can't understand. I'm, I'm the Boy Who Lived! Do you know what it's like to live a life of constant fame?"

"No... I imagine that it comes with fortune."

Grinning sadly, he nodded. "My parents died and left me a bundle of cash. I'd rather have them..."

She shrugged, "I don't know, I wouldn't mind swapping my parents for a pile of gold. They are pretty useless without their purse strings..."

"That's rather cold, greedy too."

"Me? Cold? Greedy? Oh you must be thinking of someone else..." She gave a slight smile, "I like gold Potter. I'm remarkably like a goblin that way, through with my blood line as it is... I wouldn't be surprised."

"I thought you were a pureblood."

"Oh I am, just with a few others things to be thrown in for measure. Potter, your family, your father's at least isn't as human as it could be... Most Wizarding families aren't. But people... Generally keep it a secret, or it just happened so long ago... That no one really remembers."

"That's interesting."

"Not really..."

"So the stuff about pureblood being the best is...?"

Pausing she gave a careful look, "Do you really want to know? It doesn't matter why I feel about, just what I do..."

"But that you feel! Your actions come from your emotions..."

"Not always Potter," Parkinson spoke quietly, "Not always. Sometimes you do things because you have to. You may have free will. I don't think many Slytherins who do..."

"That sucks..."

"Yeah," she giggled, spreading her arms up high, "But what can you do about it?"

"Fight against it? Every heard of free will?"

"Ever hear of consequences, Potter? Like, if one so happens to go rescue a godfather... and it was all just a plot? But the godfather dies any way. Consequences Potter, consequences..."

Anger snapping he rushed against her, using his forearm to block her windpipe, Harry spoke harshly through gritted teeth, getting his point across very quickly, "Never talk that way about Sirius, never!"

Breathing in gasps and gulps, she glared defiantly as him, "Fuck off Potter!"

"I'll fuck who ever I please!" He glared at her in one long mad moment, frustration steaming off him. Pressing closer, he hissed, "Anyone who chooses me!"

Then he released her. Legs and knees sagging beneath her, she struggled to find her breath as Potter refused to look at her. "We-ll, wasn't that interesting." Looking through her dark hair she regarded him like an interesting find, "You really are a little slut, willing to screw anyone who desires it..."

He whirled around. Biting out viciously, a terrible blush highlighting his cheeks, "That's not what I meant. It's the choice, that matters. You can't understand that, you can't..." He seemed almost surprised to find himself pitying her.

"No, I don't suppose I do. I do understand, but that what I do, is because I want to survive. For me, not for anyone else. I'm not really needed."

"Oh..."

Standing up she gave him a level look, her eyes blank from lack of emotion. "That's how the world is for many people, Potter..."

Harry couldn't see from her perspective, but some how, some of it did make sense.

"Potter! And Miss Parkinson?" Snape. Harry's insides curled up in horror. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh..." Articulated as ever, Harry was.

"Potter, was detaining me Professor. I caught him loitering here and was punishing him for being outside of curfew... Sir." Harry stared at the crisply spoken Parkinson, her eyes winking maliciously.

Snape's eyes seemed to light up with something similar, though darker, "Really? Well, Potter, another detention for you... and twenty points from Gryffindor."

"Wha- ! But Parkinson - "

"Do you want another twenty points to be lost, Potter?" Snape interrupted silkily.

"No Sir," he mumbled, head bowed and anger lacing his words.

"Good, return to Gryffindor Tower..."

Harry exited, his feet pounding into the ancient stone floors of Hogwarts. Breathing harshly he rounded a corner, his head stuffed full of emotions, some that he didn't understand and others he had no clue what to do with.

That's how he happened to hear an interesting conversation between the Slytherin Prefect, Pansy Parkinson and the Head of Slytherin House and Professor of Potions, Severus Snape.

"Parkinson?" The word, spoken still harshly seemed less filled with hate than when Harry usually heard it spoken. It was quieter too, and he struggled to hear what was being said.

"Yes Sir?" She too seemed subdued, as if a great battle had been lost, weary and tired.

"What were you really doing?" Snape expected answers.

Peeking around the corner, covered by darkness, Harry saw the two, Professor and student displayed in a diluted light sources. Parkinson's face seemed almost... Sad.

"Nothing, Sir."

"I see." But he didn't see, Harry thought. He didn't either, but he knew more than Snape. She wasn't right, but she wasn't wrong either.

"Dismissed Parkinson."

Snape leaves the dim light, fading back into the deep shadows that he normally resides.

Parkinson, stills. The air of sadness arrives upon her again. She doesn't cry, no tears leave her dark eyes. Instead they narrow with anger as she slams an open faced hand against the stone wall. Hunching over, her head bowed with her hand curling around the large stones, she seems to briefly submit to sorrow.

When she raises her head, her eyes her filled with hate. Parkinson's gazes directly at him, her mouth in a thin line. Whirling around she too goes into the shadows.

Harry lets his legs collapse under him, still seeing her eyes on him.

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AN: Well, I wrote this before HBP, so while I don't think you can tell... maybe you do -shrugs- This like _Affairs of the Heart_ (a fic that involves the romantic life of Blaise Zabini during times of turmoil, starting with Millicent Bulstrode) will be eventually continued. I just don't know when. And yes, that was shameless pimping... However, I hope you enjoyed this! If so inclined, leave a review, I like to know what people think about this.


	2. As The Sun Dawns

**Dead Man Walking**

_Chapter Two - As The Sun Dawns

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_

"Parkinson." Smoke wafted between her painted red lips, as she gave Harry a quick smiling in greeting. Her dark hair is sleep tousled, but otherwise she seems very well presented.

"Potter." He frowned as the smoke, after escaping from her lips, found it's way to his lungs, burning it's way down. Acrid, disgusting and Harry coughed on the taste. It tastes bitter, different from Muggle cigarettes, from the one time Harry tried them.

It was very early in the morning, the sun had not yet risen and both of them were already dressed for another school day. A gray mist rose from the Forbidden Forest sweeping it's way around Hogwarts. High above all vanished, turrets disappearing, towers invisible. Hogwarts was shrouded in mystery. Only one of the towers is clear from the mist and fog. Gryffindor Tower is but a mere shadow that Harry can barely make out.

Harry knew though, that by the time the sun rose and most of the castle started to awake, the mist would be gone. Hogwarts would be clear for all to see. Most people never saw Hogwarts like this. Harry hadn't know about, like many students and teenagers he found mornings twisted. Dreams had driven him early. One day he had left the Gryffindor common room and went for a walk. He hadn't returned until lunch time.

Last night Harry had another dream. About Sirius. About Cedric. About his parents. About all of them dying, for him, because of him. He hated that, Harry hated that.

The mist was easy to lose yourself in. Thickening, billowing, overwhelming. Delicate and moist, Harry sometimes thought that it would always stay the way it was and always was. The fog rolling around Hogwarts like a lover. Harry tried to forget as he Looked back at Parkinson, a smile lighting his face as Harry's eyes remained curiously distant. Half of his face was lost in the mist and fog, strong for now.

But not for forever. In the pre dawn light, Parkinson smoked, the smoke winding it's way, blending in with paler, but powerful mist.

"You do know that smoking is against school rules?" He's cursing himself at once. Did that sound so, goody two shoes or what?

She laughs, a deep, throaty sound. It comes deep inside her, amusement very much so obvious and Harry cringes at the sound. "You say," and he knows that he about to be criticized, "That you are not the Golden Boy of Hogwarts?"

"Well... That is to say, that I'm not," he manages to stumble and stutter out.

"Hmph, you might be so, Golden Boy, but your gold is like piss." She waves her arm in the air, "A gentle spluttering arc, Potter."

Her smoke is nearly finished, and slowly she lets go of it. There is a brief amber orange flare before the light dims, surrounded by her overhanging ash and white paper. Parkinson squashes under her foot, deliberately destroying in front of him.

"It's gone now," she whispers, "Have you got any thing else to harry me about Potter? Because," she lets out a sigh, looking into the dark green Forest, "I'm not really in the mood..."

His mind takes in her words, but it's not until a moment later that he grins, almost not wanting to. A smile is tugging at her lips, they stare hopelessly at each other, then erupt into near hysterical laughter.

"You're so silly Parkinson! Just like a child, teasing me, making that stupid pun..." Harry exclaimed over the bubbling laughter, she had stopped laughing through a impish grin still adorned her face.

"Maybe, Potter, I just like to have fun! " She rolled her eyes at him, "Sometimes people do, you know. You're so serious all the time, well..." She looked at him slyly, over shoulder, "Except when you play Quidditch. So, Potter, like having a stick between your legs?"

He gapes at her, silent at her words. Outrage soon follows, "I most certainly do not! Parkinson, you really have a very dirty, perverted mind."

Shrugging, she gave him an amused look, "See! Still so serious! I thought it was a good joke, you see, everyone of the Quidditch team laughed when I... Can't you ever loosen up?" She finished.

"Can't you ever tell the truth?" Harry retorts back. She stills and stares at him slowly, through a dark fringe, she's solemn and he loses his humour.

Shaking her head quickly she looks away from him. The sun is tearing at the mist. "No Potter, you don't want to hear the truth. I don't want to hear the truth. What's so good about it? What? It just hurts in the end, everyone feels pain. Why does anyone want that?" Her gaze dropped, "So, Potter, want a drag?"

"Er, I've already smoked before. I didn't like it. It burned my throat and..." Harry smiled weakly, running a hand through his hair as Pansy stared at him cooly.

"Just one, Potter, just one."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but she shoves the cigarette in his mouth. He chokes momentarily, but then grips the stem firmly, giving Pansy a heated glare, as if to show her down.

Taking a small gasp, Harry is overwhelmed by what he tastes. "It is," Harry chokes and stares as Pansy takes the cigarette out of his mouth in one fast gesture, "Not like the one I had before."

"No. I didn't think it would be. This is a special blend. One especially made for me. I don't think I'll give you any more Potter, you're too weak to handle it," she blows a ring into his face and grins merrily, her eyes dark.

"Thanks Parkinson, thanks for nothing."

She laughs, giggles overwhelming her lips. "Oh, Potter, you do spin tales."

"I don't Parkinson. You just have a wronged perception of the world. Because your truth, isn't a truth. That's why it hurts. Because it _isn't _real."

"You're not all pure, Potter, do you know that? We all have our secrets and Dumbledore isn't telling you everything. Neither is the Order - "

"How do you know about the Order?" Harry burst in, stepping forward so he was closer than before, leaning into the face, her eyes widening for one quick second.

Looking away from him, she shrugged looking flippant, yet pensive, "Do you know about Death Eaters Potter? How they ravage the earth killing their way to victory?"

"Yeah."

"I know," she smiled wickedly, "That the Order is your version of the Death Eaters, only, only you try to keep a secret what you are doing. And the Aurors... Well they are just as terrible."

"I don't believe, you. Parkinson, you're just one of them. A Death Eater, or one in training... You have never been nice, never been remotely pleasant... Why now? Why me?"

Smiling she shrugged thoughtlessly, "Oh, I don't know. You are fun to tease, and you react so easily. No wonder Draco pokes fun at you all the time... You're so..." She shrugged again.

"You're Draco's..." He stops.

"Yes, my dear Mr Potter?" She is smiling, as the smile is nasty. Twists her face into something not even close to feminine. It's like her face is a lemon, just squeezed.

Glaring at her, he sat on the ground. It was cold and damp with dew. But he ignored it and focused on her feet. They were tapping against the ground lightly, to a beat he didn't know. "You are wrong... about the Order, about everything."

"I'm wrong?" Her tone is remarkably calm.

"Yes," he nods firmly, "Totally wrong."

"Why, Potter? Why am I so wrong, so bad?" Her eyes flash and he stares at her wild hand gestures. Pansy is coming closer to him and for one of the first times he wonders if she will get close enough so he can see the colour of her eyes.

He stares at her, mouth wanting to answer but the words are locked in his mind. "Because - " He is interrupted for a hiss as her nostrils turn white and her brow is pinched.

"Because I'm evil... How like a fairy tale. Am I the wicked witch just waiting to be vanquished? Who is the hero then Potter? You? You think you can defeat the Dark Lord?" She laughs, "You have no idea of what powers he possesses, he's..."

"You don't know anything about me! You're just toying with me, playing a game with my mind," he laughs, bitterly, "For all I know you could be subverting me to, to _him_!"

"Potter, you have no sense or concept of reality..." She was playing with her finger nails, inspecting them slowly, most of them were smooth and nicely shaped but one was, crooked and cracked. "Who do you think I am?"

"What - " She had no sense of anything! She made no sense, no sense at all.

"You're the hero right, Potter? You're going to save us all and free us, aren't you? That's what you are supposed to do. You're what the Prophet calls the Chosen One! It's what you have to do, isn't it? It's madness! You're mad, crazy!"

There is quiet for a time as they both stare at one another unblinkingly.

"I don't know. I don't know Parkinson! Do you? _Do you_? Because that would help! This was heaped upon me because of who I am but not because of what I am. I never got to choose this, it isn't my choice to be the Boy Who Lived, I never knew who that person was until I was eleven! How can I be this person? How can I?"

"Oh... I never knew. All I saw was you rejecting Draco." She sighs and sits in the dirt, seemingly uncaring of how it marks her clothing, "We've been engaged for so long that I always supported him."

"You're engaged?" Harry asks, shocked that someone as young as Parkinson was.

"Yes, since," she tilts her head back, "I think was two. It's a family thing. A pureblood thing. Well, my type of pureblood thing. It's not like I never knew anything different." She sighs, "Don't look at me like that. It doesn't make anything different. It doesn't make anything about me different. I'm surprised you _didn't_ know. I thought everyone knew."

"No." He says softly, "I thought this kind of thing didn't happen any more. At least in Britain. So, you've always know what was going to happen?"

"That we were going to be married? Yes, my mother has been planning every since the betrothal party. She has my dress robes all planned, the food on stand by, the flowers decided. Everything..." She breathes out expansively, "You really never knew? Everyone in Slytherin does..."

"I never heard anyone talking about it. I guess in Gryffindor, it's different," he says.

"That's why, maybe. I suppose that Granger does know, she would. She has her finger on every gossip in Hogwarts. Every the brilliant brain." Pansy laughs, "Weasley would assume you knew, if he knew, he's pureblood and so he would, even if it was unusual."

"You and Malfoy," he shakes his head, "I suppose that's why you're always so clingy and supportive," he shrugs and steps away from her.

Anger flashes across her face and but the she appears pensive, "I wonder... No." She smiles, "I guess that's why, Potter, why I am 'clingy'."

"I didn't mean in a bad way!" He snaps, "Well, necessarily. You don't always have to appear like a simpering idiot, a smile on her face and an acid tongue. No one likes you."

"Really? No one likes me, everyone hates me, I think I'll eat some worms," she says morosely. "You sure know how to make a girl feel happy Potter, thanks!"

"I er, I didn't mean it like that, Parkinson!"

"Then what do you mean? I thought you were the one who was prattling about the truth, not me! If you value it so much, then why don't you say it? Why don't you, Potter!"

"It hurts! The truth!"

"Of course it does! It's reality! That's what I have been trying to say!"

"But why be such a bitch about it?"

"Because I am, and that's the truth!" She yells, standing up and pointing a finger at his chest. "Just like you're a nosy, stuck up, arrogant sucker!"

He hates her at that moment. He can see the hate in her eyes. Harry doesn't know why they even started talking, they both should have known that it would end up where all conversations between Gryffindors and Slytherins ended: a fight.

"Look," her voice was quiet, "The sun is rising..."

"Yes." He turned, looking the sun right in the eye, it hurt, blinding him no doubt but he endured. It was coming over the Forbidden Forest, but it still loomed. Dark, primeval and the overwhelming powerful force of nature.

"Does it matter?"

"No. I guess not."

She's looking at him, a expression in her eyes that he can't determine, "No... Nothing seems to matter any more. Good, evil. Light, dark..."

Breaking through the mist the powerful, yet distant rays of the rising sun washed away the last remaining traces of night and the predawn mist and fog. It retreated, into the green shadows of the Forbidden Forest.

"Nothing..."


	3. Murderous Conversationalist

**Dead Man Walking**

_Chapter Three - Murderous Conversationalist

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_

"Well isn't this predictable." She muttered sourly, poking a piece of parchment with a rather ruffled quill. Purplish ink was splattered as she paid no attention to the state of the table. Harry had just walked in, not noticing Parkinson in her corner seat until she had spoke.

Harry glared at her then sat down a row behind her. "It isn't like I want to be here, Parkinson. And what d'you mean, _predictable_?"

She smiled carefully, looking down her nose slightly but didn't answer. McGonagall stared at the both of them, a frown covering her already stern visage. "Your behaviour was an act of disrespect to this school and all that it stands for Miss Parkinson. I do not wish to hear any words for you this night." Harry smiled, wondering what she had done. "And you Mr Potter!" He flinched and sunk into his chair. "Are not acting accordingly to your age. I am disappointed in the both of you."

Her lips pursed as Harry looked rebellious and not at all shameful and Parkinson continued to play with her quills and parchment. They were a pair, she thought tiredly, a pair of idiots.

"Tonight your punishment to clean out the Charms Classroom. It seems there was an unfortunate accident with the canaries," she sighed, "Professor Flitwick has asked me for this and instead of doing even more dreadful work, I have given the task to you two." Her intent eyes roved over the two of them, "However do not take this at leniency. I expect for the both of you to bring the class room to it's former state of cleanliness." She paused, "Follow me, now."

They both reluctantly stood up and followed the Head of Gryffindor to the Charms class room. When she unlocked the door, they both stared in shock and horror what the room had become.

"The feathers..." Harry whispered, almost in fright, instantly and instinctively backing away.

"Oh Merlin, the yellow, the little beaks and oh, oh! The sheer - "

"Miss Parkinson! Please refrain from speaking in that manner, poking fun will only do you harm. Wands, Mr Potter, Miss Parkinson." She held out her hand and both Hogwarts students gave over their wands with little grace. "Good, get to work." She waves her wand and cleaning instruments appeared in the doorway of the Charms class room. "Any loud noises and I will be checking on the two of you." She left the two of them standing in the frame of the door.

"This is plainly silly and thoughtless, I mean, really! I am a Parkinson and I deserve..." She rambled on some more but Harry wasn't listening. He realized that it was probably just more Slytherin high and mighty attitude and hot air.

Picking up a scrubbing brush, he turned and shoved it in her hands. She trailed off into silence for a moment regarded him with wide eyes all the while holding the brush in her hands awkwardly.

"What! Why are you - " she started speaking again, a frown crossing her face.

"Parkinson, get to work, would you? I'm certainly not going to clean up this catastrophe all by myself. I will do half and you do the other half. That's fair."

"Hmm," a vapid look formed on her face, "But what if I break a nail Potter? What then?" She cried out, throwing a hand to her face and tilting her head back.

"Then magic it back. You can do that, can't you?"

Sighing melodramatically and rolling her eyes, she replied, "I suppose I will have to." Then she dropped to her knees and starting gingerly wiping away various stains.

Looking at all the mess and feathers, Harry started picking it all up. It wasn't until he dropped it into a bucket that he realized that his hand was bleeding.

"Ow..." Harry said, wiping the blood away with other finger. Strange. There seemed to be no wounds under all the blood. Harry felt a chill run down his spine.

"I... see." Pansy said, startling Potter from his concentration on his hands. "It's like Umbridge, and her quill... Some moron must have spelling the canaries into producing the feathers." She carefully picked one up, but still a small trail of blood ran down her finger. "It loses a bit of the fear when it's bright yellow."

"You... erm, got a detention with her then? I wouldn't think that she would do that to you, your family and you being a Slytherin."

"I didn't. But don't make any presumptions of my family, until you meet them." She stared at Harry, her attention drawn away from the feather, "I watched it happen to some people and I saw what happened afterwards to a few others."

"I didn't realize any Slytherins got detentions with Umbridge. I thought you were all slimy scumbags sucking up to that pink freak." Harry said.

She frowned but all she murmured cryptically was, "Not exactly a Slytherin." Before handing him some gloves. "You should use these. I didn't notice them until now."

"Thanks," Harry made sure that their fingers wouldn't touch when he grasped the touch. The gloves were reasonably new, but smelt terrible and were stained in purple and green. Harry put them on, but with hesitation.

"You know, I don't have cooties." She smiled and looked at him, rather condescendingly. "You do realize that you should have grown out of that many years ago?"

He grunts her, and then places his hand awkwardly over hers. "There. I can do it, I'm not twelve any more." Thank you puberty, for making me sound my age at least, Harry thinks.

Pansy looks surprised for a moment. Then, starting to speak to him again, "You have changed since then. Since you rescued the little Weasely and..." She looks away.

Frowning, he stares at the back of her dark head. "What do you know about that?" He sounds too curious and eager for her to answer, he realizes afterwards, she would just smirk to spite him.

"Draco told me," she says softly, "His father was furious. You had lost him... something precious. I'm not sure what, Draco never told me. And his elf." She adds afterwards.

Surprised that she actually spoke of something useful, Harry answers back, "I thought Malfoy," his tongue twists on the name of his school enemy, "Was the Heir for a while."

Looking up at him, stunned, she laughs. But it comes off nervous and edgy. "Oh. That's just plain silly. Malfoy has an exulted family line," she sounds proud for him, "But even he doesn't have Slytherin blood." She tilts her head to the side and giggles, "I think a relative of his married a Hufflepuff descendant, but... I'm not sure."

The thought of Draco as a Hufflepuff forces Harry to laugh. "Hufflepuff? Really?" She nods. "When did that happen?" He sniggers again, thinking of telling Ron.

Smiling brightly, she says, "In the sixteenth century I think..." She trails off at the expression on his face. "What's wrong?" She pulls her hand away from his and leans against a table.

"You know his pedigree four centuries back? That's so," his mouth turns in disgust. "Weird." His looks at her, watching the angry twitch of her brows.

"Because," she says slowly, "Draco and I are going to get married one day. Probably the summer after seventh year. I've known for years..."

"Married? But you're not even of age? How can you think of knowing, how can you know for _years_?" Harry is aghast at what she has said.

Shrugging, she says quietly, "It's just what is going to happen. Don't be alarmed, there is at least one Gryffindor who is promised. It's," she pauses, still speaking softly, "Common among the old pureblood families."

"You don't mind that your parents are signing your life away in marriage to some foul mouthed pointy ferret!" Harry snaps at her, still alarmed.

"Draco isn't as bad as you think, Potter," she whispers hotly, "You don't know what we have been through. You have lived this idealized world of the Weasley's, haven't you? Wizards were very close to accepting His rule," her mouth twists, "Very close. Look at the people you know and trust, do you really believe that they always tell you the truth? Or merely a truth?"

"There's not a difference. You're wrong! Very wrong!"

"Hmph. Maybe. Maybe." Her tone clearly implied that she didn't believe so.

"Yeah, well, you know what Parkinson? You're stuck up and spoiled. Concerned only with your own self and image and no one else. If every person died, you would happy, wouldn't you?" He stops. "No, because then you would have no one to toy with, no one to play with and hurt their feelings. No one to feel awful. No one at all."

She stares at him for a moment as he glares at her in anger and frustration. "I... " She stops speaking and looks down. A pang of distress at his words hits Harry's heart, before he strikes it away.

"What is it? Can think of anything to say?" He smirks. Figures. All bark and not bite. She talks big, but she doesn't have any heart.

"I hate you. I hate you. For all you stand for and all of your ignorance! You think you know everything! You're the one who is," she gulps and seems to be choking back tears, "Wrong!"

"If you seem to know everything then why don't you tell me? If you're right then why don't you prove it? Parkinson," he says in the deathly quiet, "If it all true then why - "

"What is going on here?" A voice snaps above them. "Mr Potter? Miss Parkinson? What are you doing?" She surveys the room with a harsh and critical eye, "I don't see much difference." The two Hogwarts students look up at their Transfiguration teacher in surprise. They hadn't heard her, too intent on proving their own point.

"Professor..." he says, before trailing off, realizing that there is nothing he can think of. Words have escaped him.

The stern teacher given them a withering look. Harry quakes under the glare. Parkinson, is staring down, he can't see her expression, whatever that may be.

"Get back to work, you two, or your punishment shall be doubled," her eyes narrow as Parkinson lets out a small giggle, "Is there something you find amusing, Miss Parkinson?" She asks scathingly.

"No Professor," Pansy says, quietly and demure. Then leaving the room, she cast one last suspicious glance at the two teenagers before the door clicked behind her.

"I'm confused about you Potter." He looks up at her, noticing that she is now swinging her legs off the table where she is sitting. "I don't know why you even try, being the Boy Who Lived. But you do..."

"You're a very confusing person, Parkinson, I should be the one who is confused." He mumbles, not looking at her. "And what d'you mean, being - "

"Hmm, oh, I don't think so... If you try and are smart enough."

"Look, about Malfoy," Harry mutters quickly, thinking of the pale boy, "Is he - "

"It's none of your business, Potter." She harshly bites out, "What Draco is doing is simply none of your concern. It's like," she waves her hand around, "You always get what you want. All the teachers love you, so much! Except Snape... But that's for granted. He's always hated you." She smiles.

Harry has so many questions to ask her, but knows at the moment that she is a blank wall and he will only get criticisms if he opens his mouth and asks. He hates her, for refusing to see what he knows is right. For what she says and what she believes. It's polar opposite with what he thinks and knows it true. Can't she see that? Or is she just that blinded?

"We'd better get back to work," Harry says, looking at his hand, still slightly crusted with small traces of blood but otherwise perfectly fine, it stings though. He clenches it and speaks again, "I don't want to be here all night."

_With you_, is left unspoken but they both hear it.

He never did find out what was so predictable, he never had the chance.

* * *

AN: Hmm, yay, another update. Thanks for the reviews, they are appreciated.


	4. Lone Tears, Many Lions

_Dead Man Walking

* * *

_

_Chapter Four - Lone Tears, Many Lions

* * *

_

Draco is waiting on her empty bed when she enters. Pansy stops for a moment and watches as her last remaining room mate leaves her alone with him. Millicent, reluctant but still walking away, gives her a look of sympathy before she closes the door behind her. It soft closing jars her and she comes back to her senses.

He's lying on her bed, staring at the stone ceiling, not an expression on his face. Pansy has heard rumours of the Gryffindor rooms. How boys aren't allowed into female rooms. She knows why Slytherin didn't extend that policy to his own House. He expects all Slytherins to be honourable. To not to be, is to be not be a Slytherin. One who breaks the invisible rules, becomes invisible to fellow house mates.

And what would be life without fellow human beings? Being ambitious is one thing, but breaking the silent rules and laws are simply not done.

She has also heard of the four poster beds, the privacy that they have. Sometimes she craves to have her own little place instead of the wide open bed, bare and green. It's that openness that makes her magic her bed every morning so people can't find any trace of her being here. Sometimes she wonders if she disappeared, no one would notice because there was nothing she really showed that she lived here. Well... except for the bathroom, but that was a different matter altogether, she needed her perfumes and lotions.

Slytherins have no secrets or are supposed to not have any from their fellow house mates, but they all hide nonetheless.

His hair is mussed, and he looks beaten. Not bloody and broken, but on the inside. Pansy wasn't there when he found about his father's capture and imprisonment, but she can now clearly imagine what he would have looked like.

Sitting beside him, she places a soothing hand on his shoulder. He's icy cold, like he has been frozen. She almost brings her hand away from his arm.

Boys don't cry, it's like a cardinal rule. But in Slytherin girls don't either. The weakness is not allowed. Pansy would not have it any other way.

A reviled cousin of hers is in Gryffindor, through she pains never to admit it someone, like he pains never to speak about her. But during the summer, they spend time together and sometimes they talk, out of sheer boredom. What he tells of Gryffindor makes her glad of her house. Slytherin can be loud as well, but canaries?

Pansy would curse, hex and bodily main with her own self, the person who ever dared to do something like that. She doesn't know how a person could handle that.

Laughing, she was once told by an insane aunt, at least Pansy always considered her insane, is the best medicine. Pansy doesn't know where she was told this, she knows the aunt could have never thought it up. But she likes it. She tries to laugh at least twice a day. Giggles five times that and snicker as many times as she likes.

Since she began this laughing regime, there have only been three days where she has not done this. But Pansy does not like to talk about those days and just laughs, maddeningly, when ever someone brings them up.

Stroking his pale, soft hair, Pansy tries to not to appear any more nervous than she already has. "Draco? W-What's wrong? Is it your father?" He tenses and she nearly brings her hand away from him. "Please tell me Draco."

He stares up at her, but his eyes are blank and unseeing. She wonders what he is trying find with those eyes, because it certainly isn't here and with her.

"It wasn't the classes, or the teachers was it? Um, the Gryffindors weren't that stupid today, surprising us all. Hufflepuffs still haven't grown a spine. Ravenclaws are still buried in their tedious tomes. Nothing has changed, has it Draco?" Her voice catches on the last note.

Rolling away from her, so that he is head down into her pillows, Pansy hear him take a deep breath, taking in her scent, one thing she does leave behind. For a moment considers slapping him for being a pervert. It doesn't seem to be like that, when she hears his next gasping, choking breath.

Crying... _Draco's crying_! The sounds of his near silent sobs almost bring her to tears. Seeing him like this, it's like he has been broken and Pansy hates that.

She always remembers him as her shining prince, with his noble frame and sharp tongue. It hurt sometimes to hear him speak, but she would rather hear words of torment than nothing at all.

"Oh, Draco, please, stop, please. I'll do whatever you want, I'll you..." she stumbles over her next words, knowing that they will bind her deeper into the Malfoy mess, "I will help, I can I know I can, please. Draco, stop it, please."

"It's doesn't matter, Pansy, you can't help me. Only I can do this, it was what was given to me and I will do it. It's my task and he himself gave it to me. It's an honour Pansy," he says, like he is trying to convince himself. "You can't help Pansy... You're not enough!"

Pansy smiles, tenderly, knowing the real warmth and meaning behind the biting words. Draco wants her help, anyone's help, but he won't let them, he won't let them be damned like he is. She also knows, that he will succeed and will be even more proud of himself, because he did alone without their help. He will want the glory all for himself then, just as he wants her help now but refuses it for future glory.

Lying down beside him, Pansy throws an arm across his waist and tries to sleep. Knowing that when she wakes up in the morning, he will be gone, but he will leave his tears behind, in her pillow.

* * *

Surrounded by chaos, cradle in fun, scattered amongst laughter, one only one of the many mighty brave Gryffindors.

Ron is doodling in a textbook, some nonsense and Hermione is busy at a similar but much thicker textbook, underlining passages. Harry stares at his and sighs.

He shouldn't have asked. What made him think that she would abandon Draco for him? Maybe stupidity, he thinks, because he knows few Slytherins who are brighter than a tarnished penny. But then, he also considers, if he said that, he probably would have been slapped and she would have stormed off and resolved never to speak to him.

Maybe she would never speak to him again, and then maybe, it would end their maddening conversations. He wouldn't have to deal with her silly and totally and wrong views on the world. Because they were, Harry is sure that they are. He trusts Dumbledore with his life, and knows that he would end his life for his Headmaster. Why can't she see that Dumbledore cares for all? Even, Harry wrinkles his nose, nasty evil snot sucking Slytherins? Like her, he ends lamely, even in his own mind.

"Pie," Ron says suddenly and surely. Harry and Hermione look up, out of curiousity's sake if not for anything else. "I want pie. Yes, pie is good and I want pie," Ron sighs, "I wish they could make my Mum's pumpkin and lemon pie. It's really good," he sighs again.

"Who do you wish you could make your Mum's pumpkin and lemon pie?" Harry asks, because of the way that Ron dismally ended his sentence.

"Elves, of course," Ron answers, missing the narrowing of Hermione's eyes. "I asked them once, or twice, and yet it just didn't taste the same. Pity I think, if the whole school could enjoy the pie, everything would be much better."

Hermione looks ready to explode, so Harry once again, intervenes. "Blueberry pie is good too. I had it a school fair once and I still remember the look on Dudley's face when I beat him at this tossing game." He turns to Hermione, "How 'bout you, what is your favourite pie?"

Tilting her head to one side, Hermione smiles warmly. "I like the school pumpkin pies but I always remember how my great aunt Libby, when she was living with us before she died, would make the most delicious cranberry tarts. I like those tarts better than any pie, I'm afraid."

"Mum used to make the pie whenever I was up really early on winter mornings," Ron shifts and smiles, "I would always get first bite and the last before anyone got up. It was great."

Harry thinks of their conversation and can't help but grin. Pie. How would have thought that pie, all sorts of pie, would unite them all. Harry resolves to eat more pie to pay tribute to it's greatness.

* * *

It's a few weeks later when Millicent walks up to her and clears her throat and then stands back awkwardly, but in a firm position.

Pansy looks up from her homework and gives Millicent a tired stare, she's been having trouble sleeping lately, her mind just refuses to stop thinking when she lays her head down and about trivial and silly things too. It's been taking her hours just to go to sleep, lately she has been going to sleep earlier than usual but she still wakes up tired and cranky. It has not be that pleasant to be around Pansy.

Through no spoken invitation is made, Millicent sits down on Pansy's bed, clearing a way for her form among the scattered notes, open books and long scrolls of parchment.

"Hmm? What's wrong, Millie? That Theodore, rat, hasn't been sending you those _dreadful_ letters has he? Those could put in person down, with his twisted words. And Theodore, should be making a short visit to Azkaban for his crime. That boy has no idea of style."

"No it's not that, it's just that I've been wondering about the future." Millicent fidgets and gives Pansy a weak smile, before staring at her hands in her lap.

"Your future?" Pansy flops down beside Millicent and gazes at the stone ceiling, slightly glowing, and frowns. "Now what do you mean by that?"

"You know how last year we had meetings with Professor Snape about our career choices? Well, you see, I don't really feel like being a sideshow in the Russian Wizarding Circus any more and - "

"I really don't know how you managed to say that with a straight face, Millie, you're just plain strange to be in that freak show," Pansy comments, then winces as her words come back to her. "Not that I meant in like that, I knew that is was a joke and you're not meant for it..."

Millicent shrugs, "Oh, I know. My brother actually suggested it. I think it was my great grandfather who started the tradition and now all Bulstrodes to it. But, _seriously_ Pansy."

"Sure. Um, so what do you want to be? I always thought you could make a good writer, your scathing replies beck to that awful Nott boy can be quite delightful."

"Actually, I've already made up my mind. It's er, a school teacher," Millicent ducks her head and her hair falls across her face as she hides.

"A schoolmarm?" Pansy sits up and stares at Millicent. "Well, I'm not totally surprised. You do like the thrill of wielding power and think of all the cute boys you'll be able to see grow up!" Pansy giggles.

"Yes, well, I think that's slightly illegal, but thanks for your thoughts Pansy. They are always appreciated." Millicent stand up and smiles, a red tint still to her cheeks.

Pansy giggles, and waves her hand. "No problem Millie." She throws a hand up in to the air. "I, Pansy Parkinson, live to serve the lesser people!"

Raising an eyebrow, Millicent shakes her head, "Whatever you say, Parkinson, whatever you say. After all," she grins, "Don't want the holds on your fragile, delicate mind to break, now do we?"

"Damn straight we don't!"

* * *

Harry was half awake when he stumbled into the common room, it was nearly morning and the fire still burned in the hearth. Everything was red, gold and red.

He hadn't slept for more than five minutes when nightmares had started taking over his mind. Strange forms twisting through his dreams, dead white and slender, with hollow eyes and black gaping holes for mouths.

They has cried out to him, longing for release. From their pitied, tortured existence. They wrapped their forms around him and squeezed until their wails brought him to nearly scream himself.

Dead souls, by Voldemort, but these weren't normal ghosts that resembled humans. These souls had not choice to wander the Earth, by their death and the dark magic that caused it and destroyed their ability to pass over until Voldemort was dead. It was tasked to him to kill.

Only then would they leave him, the tainted figures of the dead. Their souls or bodies had been used in Dark Magic and only when the user was dead could they leave their hated forms and exact peace or vengence.

Blinking in the dawn light, Harry shook his head and shuddered. Curling up on a couch, closing his eyes against the invasion of light, his mind still bleary from sleep, he tried to forget the dream.

"Harry?" The voice was soft and muffled, like it was coming from far away. Opening his eyes, Harry realizes that his short nap has gone longer than expected. Students are beginning to mill and leave the Common Room, all leaving curious stares at the Boy Who Lived, who sat sheepishly, sleepily with a frown on his face.

Red, more red. "Yeah?" He says weakly, rubbing his eyes and turning away from the stares.

Ginny looks nervous, and her tone is unsure. "Are you all right?" She whispers, as if she doesn't want anyone to hear. "It's not..." Her eyes flicker to the scar and Harry closes his eyes, wondering how much she has heard over the years and how much she longs to know.

"No. Something else," which isn't totally a lie, Harry considers. He shrugs, and stand up, stretching his shoulders. He flinches when he feels a light pressure on his back, gentle but firm.

"Nothing?" Her words are dark, but she keeps her voice lightly. A frown shadows her brow but.

"Yes!" Harry snaps and feels remorse instantly when Ginny recoils, her feature hurt. "No. No, I'm sorry, I just didn't get much sleep last night, Ginny, I'm sorry."

She looks down, "Yeah, I know," and he knows too. "You'd better get dressed otherwise you'll have nothing to eat!" She grins, weakly, but all the same Harry smiles back, "Otherwise, Ron may just eat all of Breakfast."

He nods, "Thanks Ginny."

Smiling again, he is reminded how beautiful and lovely she is. He doesn't know how he forgotten with it staring in his face every day, it should blind him, he thinks casually, sighing softly as Ginny waves goodbye and leaves.


	5. With Intervention

_Dead Man Walking

* * *

_

_With Intervention_

* * *

Pansy sighed.

She was supposed to be in class, it being a Tuesday, but she had skipped the day's lessons. She didn't want people around her, she barely wanted to be around herself.

It was some time during lunch that she came to a new awareness from the dull state she had been in. Pansy could tell it was lunch from the increased noise down below, and that was when she felt tears of self pity sting her eyes. Rubbing her hand against her face, she gritted her teeth and stared determinedly at the Forbidden Forest. The crisp air and the light blue of the sky made it possible for one to see far. It focused her, on seeing nothing...

Worrying only caused more worrying, and yet Pansy could not help herself.

Draco was acting more strange that usual was her main concern. She frowned, he had been acting like this all year and she couldn't understand why. She suspected it had something to do with the Dark Lord. But, that was nothing new. With his father in Azkaban, his mother... in danger was one way to put it and him, eager to prove his worth... Pansy feared for him, afraid what he had to do.

Lately everything seemed to revolve around the Dark Lord. Pansy shivered, then frowned. She saw how people in the other Houses looked through the newspaper, dreading to see if one of their relatives was dead. If any of hers did, if would be under the fallen enemy, and she would not be given any time to grieve.

Her cousin had died. She hadn't been particulary close, but it had surprised her to receive a letter from her parents telling her... he was dead. He was twenty. She couldn't understand why he was dead. The Aurors, had blasted his body out of existence and they never knew who he was. The family was far too scared to even hold a service for him.

That panged. What if that had been her? She would have never been properly mourned. She wouldn't even been buried. Pansy didn't want that. She didn't want to die. But if she did, she wanted people to be sorry and that her death was worth enough for a simple ceremony. Was that asking too much?

But... Going to Dumbledore, would be paramount to death. She loved her family, her friends to much to ever betray them like that. It would betrayal going to the so called 'Light', her family could never forgive her. Draco wouldn't either. It was impossible to even think of.

She didn't know why she even was thinking this. None of this would make a difference, in the end, she wouldn't make a difference. She wasn't equipped or trained for wizardry warfare. She was barely passing DADA!

However, her thoughts drifted, would that be enough. Would people stop a hex because she wasn't trained to defend herself properly. No, they would act quicker, take relish in her weakness.

Gripping her skirt, Pansy shook, ever so slightly. Death, how that word seemed to be spoke so frequently. It was almost. seemed to be becoming the school motto. Everyone's mantra, was death. Hogwarts, was so different from first year when she had taken pleasure in seeing a Hufflepuff cry. They wouldn't cry, not when their parents might be dead or their siblings...

No one would cry, until death came.

* * *

"Oh... It's you."

"Were you expecting anyone else?" He asks, stepping forward so he stands beside her. He wonders why she is shivering, the weather is quite warm. The sky is clear and the air is fresh. Harry breaths deeply, smiling at the weather.

"Not extactly, no." She turns away from, as she speaks, her voice sounding distant. "I really wasn't expecting anyone to come up here. Stupid of me, I suppose. It's..." she pauses, "Just that I thought, and I wanted it... I just thought I would be alone."

"It's nice up here, you can see everything from here. I've come up here before, and, Hogwarts really is wonderful, isn't it?" Harry smiles.

"I - I guess. I never really thought of it like that," she shrugs, "It's just school. Homework, teachers, students, owls, lessons, parchement and ink... Just school."

"Hogwarts is more than that! It's the most magical place, you can see that can't you?" Harry asks, shaking his head at her apathy. "It's Hogwarts, Parkinson, and we only have a few short years here..." His voice trails off.

"Yes... I guess, you could see like that. I don't. I never really wanted to come here. It's not the place that makes it work. But the people, the magic, it's just secondary... Hogwarts itself."

Harry pauses, "I couldn't imagine Hogwarts without Hermione or Ron. They're part of Hogwarts to me."

"And after Hogwarts? Will the magic fade? Will you feelings or friendship for them go away because you aren't at Hogwarts any more? Will Hogwarts simply become a memory? Or has it already become that?"

He looks at her, as she stares at him, almost desperately, "They bind Hogwarts together, the people." He shrugs, "I dunno, Hogwarts is Hogwarts, and I love it..."

Her face slowly falls, crumpling in on itself as she steps forward and -

* * *

Harry watches her leave, not quite sure what had just happened. He touched his cheek and shook his head. That couldn't have happened. It must have been his imagination. He smiled now.

Hogwarts would always remain dear to him, simply because of the people, the magic and everything that made it Hogwarts. He felt sad that she didn't see or feel that.

Hmerione and Ron, they weren't just peopl, or friends, they were more than that. They were family. Harry was so grateful for magic, and Hogwarts, that had made him meet them.

And Ginny... Harry cared deeply for her. A shadow passed over his face, his mouth twisted and his eyes darkened. It wasn't, alright however. Ginny was happy, he supposed he was. But there was something wrong, something niggling at him, there was something -

Missing.

He didn't feel right, there was something wrong with Hogwarts. He thought of Dumbledore, and shook his head. Harry feared for him, no matter what Dumbledore himself said.

Death, That was what was so different about Hogwarts. Everyone feared it, everyone hated it and everyone wished it wouldn't happen to them or anyone that they loved and cared for.

Would Hogwarts be the same without Hermione and Ron? Without Dumbledore and Ginny? Without students and the teachers? And... even, without Snape and Malfoy? Would it be Hogwarts as he knows it?

He shakes his head, brow now furrowed in frustration and thought.

* * *

"Is something wrong?" Millicent asks, as Pansy enters the room they share together. "You look... shaken. Pale, and clammy. You aren't alright." Millicent marks a page in her book as she swings around to face the pacing Pansy.

"I - I don't really feel like talking about it Millicent. I don't feel... right. I don't want to feel this way and I don't want to talk about it."

Millicent looks deeply at Pansy, then nods. "I understand. If you need anything... Just holler." Picking up her book, she quietly leaves the room

Alone. It isn't exactly what she needs, but it was she wants. She doesn't want anyone to see her break down and see her crying like she is now.

The tears are hot and sticky and Pansy hates the way they cling to her skin. How they taste of salt and simply won't stop coming down. She sniffs,slumping to the floor.

She remembers when she had some happiness, some belief in something greater than herself. Her parents had been her heros until she started to grow and see all their mistakes.

They were human and that jurt her. She wanted them to be more than that. She thought they were and so when their humanness came to light, it hurt. She knew, she supposed everyone went through this and but for her, it wasn't the same. Parents were supposed to keep you safe.

Hers hadn't. She hated them for that. But the funny thing was, she still loved them.

This isn't how it is supposed to be. She never wanted it to be like this. She wanted to be happy. Wasn't she supposed to be? Didn't her mummy promise her some happiness?

Lies, that was what they told her. All lies.

Happiness was only a myth. One she could never reach.

* * *

"Harry?" She asks, quietly, before sitting down beside him.

"Yeah?" He turns away from the parchment he was writing on and faces Ginny. Her eyes are tired and there are shadows under her eyes. A remnant of the Owls, he thinks. Placing his quill down, he smiles at Ginny.

"Are you okay?" She looks away from his suddenly intense eyes, an arm drapes across her stomach protectively as she explains. "You don't see the same."

"Of course I do. Maybe it's you who changed." He sees the hurt flash across her face, and he shifts and drops his gaze. They're both not looking at each other now.

"That could be true Harry, but, you're sadder. You seem more restless." She glances up, this time, and Harry is forced to look at her as she speaks, "I don't want to be left out Harry. Please. I'm not a child."

Her brown eyes flash at him, Harry can't help but wonder that she still looks pretty when she is angry. One of her hands grabs his, and she hold it tightly between her startlingly cold fingers. Her cheeks are flushed a warm rose, and Harry thinks of sunsets.

"I know that," he says slowly, "Ginny, trust me, there's nothing going on. This year..." he pauses, "Has been strangely quiet. Absent of all the normal dangers. Odd really what with Voldemort finally risen." He watches her flinch at the name, with some detachment. It's normal now, he wonders if Dumbledore feels the same.

"Oh, Harry!" She embraces him, cool tears resting against his neck. He pats her back, some what awkwardly and tries to soothe her.

"It's okay Ginny. We're safe..."

He wonders if he is so easy to read or if Ginny only adept as reading him. Harry resolves to hide himself more, if only to protect Ginny, Ron and Hermione. He doesn't want them knowing how he feels, it would only hurt them if they knew his every up and down.

He just wants them to be happy. That's all.

"We're safe," he repeats, more to himself than to the stiffening Ginny. "Don't worry. We're at Hogwarts."

"But - Everything that's happened to you at Hogwarts! You can't seriously think that I would ever believe that?"

"Believe me?"

"I!" She pauses and looks away, "That's not fair Harry."

"Life isn't." He mutters flatly, staring at his shoes. The distant roar of the common room is fading.

"I thought… you were happy, with the things, as they are, some of them at least." Her voice sounds drained, left with her usual light.

"I don't think I can say I'm happy with everything." Harry says, scratching at his forehead, brushing at his dark hair.

"Is anyone?" She presses on.

"I want more!"

"Oh, I see…"

Harry wondered how much she actually did see and how much she did understand. He never asked, and never felt the need. Not enough to see Ginny's face change again.

* * *


End file.
